


The Flowers in my Veins

by UnoriginalAtBest



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Anxiety, Child Abuse, Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 15:07:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11877096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnoriginalAtBest/pseuds/UnoriginalAtBest
Summary: She planted them in me. They were good to me for a while.





	The Flowers in my Veins

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, somethin' I wrote when I wasn't feelin' too well, I guess. ^^;

She wasn't a mom.

She wasn't a proper parent at all, really.

In many ways, she was more than a parent, but is that such a good thing?

When I say "more" I don't mean that she would go out of her way to help me out, or tuck me in at night, or buy me things when I didn't ask her to. She did do those things, but it certainly wasn't for the right reasons. She didn't do it to help me. She didn't do it out of the kindness of her own heart, simply because she cared about her daughter. She did it because she thought that would make me love her more and forget about all of the bad things she would do.

No, when I say "more" I mean that she was something else. She was a different creature. She was another being entirely. She was no longer "my mom".

She would ascend that title to something far more terrifying.

_She became a god._

Dark, disgusting wings filled with tar would sprout from her back. Her long and oddly shaped fingers would curl into crooked blamers. Her lungs would become a darker shade of black. No longer were they covered in the nicotine of burned tobacco, but rather the gunk from worlds far below our's.

And she would infect me with that gunk.

She would blow ashes into my lungs and I'd scratch and scratch and scratch at my neck until it bled, but I couldn't breathe. No matter how many holes I tore in my throat to let the filth spill out, I just could not breathe.

But the scariest thing that she'd ever done was plant beautiful flowers in my body.

Small and gorgeous seedlings would sprout from my pores. I'd cry in joy at the lovely little fellows. They were my friends.

The seeds would talk to me sometimes. They'd make me laugh. They'd make me smile a true and genuine smile. I'd grin from ear to ear.

And then when I was sad they would wrap around my body in a comforting blanket. Their leaves would lie unto my body, and they would warm me from the cold of my father. The cold of that old house. It was rather nice.

But once we escaped that house the flowers began to wilt.

You see, the flowers did not wilt in a physical way. Their appearance did not change, nor did their petals fall away. They still looked as beautiful as ever. What did change, however, was what the flowers would give me.

Slowly, oh so slowly, the flowers would refuse to offer me warmth or guidance and instead let me handle some things on my own. I went to bed plenty of times without their stems covering my torso. But, they told me that this was expected of a growing child. I was peaking into my teenage years, and the flowers would tell me that I needed to learn to grow without being handicapped through everything. So, I eventually accepted this fate. I understood that I must mature into a new era of my life.

But the flowers pushed things too far.

It was on the day that I realized that the sun above my head spoke in many different colors that the flowers stopped treating me kindly.

The plants had been born out of the essence of my mother. They were ingrained with her thoughts and ideas and morals. Whatever she sought as correct was what the flowers sought as correct. The only problem was that my colorful sun spoke of ideals far different from any my mother, or the flowers, enjoyed.

The sun would try to tell me of it's wonderful ideas. It had treated me with utter gentleness for years, and it had even helped the flowers bloom, but the flowers did not want someone that went against my mother. Their goddess. Their goddess with nicotine on her lips and filth in her lungs and tar covered wings. They did not want the sun around.

So they drenched it in water and placed a cloak over it's rays, and the sun screamed for release.

I wanted to save it, but I let them do it. I let them cover up the one thing that fed life unto this wretched world that my mother reigned over. I let them turn the day into night. _I let them, because I didn't know how to think for myself._

Then for a while it remained as such. I could no longer speak to the sun. I could only talk to the flowers that grew from my flesh and bones. The flowers weren't friendly anymore.

They no longer offered me shelter when I needed them. They no longer gave me advice on things a teenage girl could not do on her own. Any time I attempted to do something right they would yell in my direction like I was scum. To be honest, I believed them.

I believed I was scum. I believed them. I believed them. _Oh, god, did I believe them._

Wretched and putrid and blasphemous, that's what they called me. They didn't stop when I went to my mother about their horrid behavior. She instructed them to do as such.

So I was stuck with the fuckers. I had no way to rid my body of them, and even if I did, who's to say that they weren't growing more in the deepest recesses of my cells?

But being forced to play the same game over and over every single day was a tiring task.

I decided, at some point or another, to rip the blanket off of the sun.

The flowers yelled at me as I climbed the sky. They told me of how big a traitor I was and how my mother, of how their creator, would soon be there to bring me back down to Earth and away from the stars above. But my mother was not fast enough to stop me.

I pulled the cover from the sun with all of my strength, and out free the sun was. It's rays filled the sky with a new hope. Every single fraction of sunshine was brimming with something I hadn't felt in a long time. Something I must search for when in peril.

A new future.

I stared in awe at the particles of light flying through the clouds above. I did so until my mother walked up behind me and yanked my shoulder back only to breath her filth into my lungs again. I passed out, but when I woke the sun was still shining.

She had been unable to place the cover atop the sun once more, for now that it saw how much I cared for it, it refused to stop shining. It burned straight through the cover. It shone on my path to greatness, and without a second thought I started down on it without my mother's permission.

And on my journey I began the painful task of plucking each and every flower from my vessel.

Only a few more to go.

_Only a few more to go-_

**Author's Note:**

> The roots hurt when I remove them, but it'll all be worth it.


End file.
